


Waiting for Word

by lwise2019



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:19:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26520526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lwise2019/pseuds/lwise2019
Summary: The Madsen family waits for word from Mikkel and the expedition after the tank fails entirely.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Waiting for Word

> And for those of you waiting for word of the intrepid explorers in the Silent World, particularly our own Mikkel Madsen, there is no news today. The team has not checked in this evening. However, remember that their radio has failed before, and their mechanic, Tuuri Hotakainen, has repaired it. Our ambassador to the Nordic Council tendered a complaint today for the shameful under-financing of this expedition which has led to such repeated equipment failures.
> 
> We will break in at any time if word is received from the explorers. In the meantime, we turn to the Rønne Symphony Orchestra playing the symphonies of Carl Nielsen.

Morten, father of Mikkel and his six siblings, glanced around the barn with a shrug that almost looked casual. “Nothing tonight.” Offering his arm to his wife Freja, he led the way out the door. Almost thirty of Mikkel's cousins were gathered into the barn to listen to the radio and even without them there would have been quite a crowd: Morten and Freja; Mikkel's grandmother Anne; his three sisters and three brothers; two brothers-in-law and two sisters-in-law; six nieces; five nephews. The news-readers liked to call Mikkel “our own Mikkel Madsen” as if he belonged to all of Denmark, but in truth he belonged to the people in the barn.

The family had congregated in the barn every night for weeks to listen to reports from Öresund Base. The tank which the explorers were using in the Silent World lacked the power to punch through the omnipresent static to any other receivers, and so the Base was relaying each message; public interest in the expedition had compelled the Danish authorities to summarize such messages and, in some cases, even to play the messages themselves for the audience on Bornholm. The other nations of the Known World had taken similar action, and the world was unified in its concern for the fate of the explorers.

When the crowd had filed out, two remained: Mette, Mikkel's baby sister, now twenty-four; and Martin, his youngest brother, three years her senior. “Dad told me to stay and listen,” Martin commented, pulling a small knife and a partially completed carving from his pockets. Someone listened every hour of the day just in case there was word from Mikkel.

“He didn't tell me to leave,” Mette replied, taking her knitting from the basket beside her.

They sat in companionable silence, listening to the music, for a while before Martin observed, “That's a really big sweater. For him?”

“Yes. I thought it would be a g-good welcome home.”

“It will be. This is just … another equipment problem. They just got it fixed yesterday and it's broken again because their equipment is garbage. That's all.”

“Yeah. I'm not worried.”

They worked on their respective projects in silence until their big brother Michael, Mikkel's twin, came to take over listening to the radio.

* * *

> The Silent World explorers have not reported in again today. The transmitter on Öresund Base has been carefully checked by technicians who assure us that the problem is not on that end. The static remains at a relatively low level and should not be insuperable even for the explorers' rubbishy equipment. We continue to expect contact at any moment and will advise you as soon as it is received. 

Once more Morten and Freja led the way out, Freja dabbing at her eyes as she went. Mette remained behind with her knitting and her cousin Nils, some eight years older. As Nils was — finally — trying to learn Icelandic, while Mette had learned it as a child and spoke it fluently, he practiced on her until her oldest niece, Mila, took over listening.

* * *

> There continues to be no word from the bold explorers of the Silent World after four days. Plans for the rescue ship are unchanged and it will arrive in around ten days. Our complaint to the Nordic Council regarding the criminally inadequate provisions for this historic expedition has been joined by the governments of Norway and Sweden. Attempts to contact the Finnish ambassador regarding the matter have been so far unsuccessful.
> 
> We remind our audience that there have been long failures of contact in the past, but the brave Finnish mechanic, Tuuri Hotakainen, has managed to repair the radio each time. We will break in at any time if word is received from the explorers. 

Morten looked around at the family. “Go on, all of you. Remember to check the schedule on the slate for your turn to listen to the radio.” The crowd began to shuffle towards the door.

Martin mused, frowning, “Their brave Finnish mechanic is almost certainly infected, and probably showing symptoms right about now.” The news-readers had tried to encourage their listeners to keep up hope; Tuuri had only been scratched, after all, not bitten, but the truth was that even scratches nearly always caused infection.

“And Mikkel's the medic,” Freja mourned.

“Mikkel will do his duty,” Morten stated sternly. They all knew the duty of a medic when someone was infected with the Rash.

Mette looked at her hands so as not to meet her parents' eyes or Michael's. _Yes, he'll do his duty. He always has and he always will, no matter what it costs him. But behind his impassive mask and stolid voice, he cares about the people around him. He gets attached to them. And if it is his duty to euthanize a patient — no, don't sugar-coat it; if his duty forces him to **kill** a teammate, a friend, a woman younger even than I am, a non-immune that he failed to protect — Mikkel will do it. But there won't be much left of my big brother afterwards._

* * *

> There continues to be no word from the explorers in the Silent World. It has now been a week since the last communication from our own Mikkel Madsen. The rescue ship is on its way and should arrive in eight days, regardless of whether contact is restored, and will remain for four days in hopes of meeting any survivors. Finland has joined Denmark, Norway, and Sweden in our complaint to the Nordic Council regarding their shameful and criminal failure to properly equip these courageous explorers in their bold and historic expedition to the Silent World. 

“They think he's dead,” Michael stated. The crowd was much smaller now, Mikkel's cousins having slowly fallen away, and only his immediate family and some in-laws continuing the ritual of listening to the radio. “They think he's dead and he _isn't._ He's my twin, he's half of me, and I'd _know_ … I'd _know!”_ He looked around helplessly and then strode out of the barn, his wife, Alma, running after him.

Mette covered her face. She wouldn't cry, she _wouldn't!_ But she was a skeptical Dane, and she did not believe that sharing genes — even all their genes — and even having once shared a womb, would give twins any mystical connection that would allow Michael to know if Mikkel was dead. She was quite certain that Mikkel could be lying dead next door, and Michael would not know it. Still, she thought, the equipment _was_ rubbish and maybe the Finnish woman — Tuuri — just wasn't able to fix it.

Or maybe she wasn't alive anymore.

“Mette,” Freja said gently, sadly, “you don't need to stay this evening. Your father will stay all night. If … if there is word, he will wake you. Come now.”

Mette followed her back to the old farmhouse, much extended, where she and all of her brothers and sisters had been born.

* * *

> We await word from the rescue ship which was sent to pick up the survivors of the historical first expedition to the Silent World. It has now been two weeks since the last communication was received from the explorers. If they have survived, they should have made their way to a supply outpost constructed by the Army during the ill-fated attempt at the reconquest of our mainland a decade ago. Our own Mikkel Madsen, the medic of the expedition, served in the Army during the reconquest and it is only by chance that he was not present at the time of the great disaster at Kastrup.
> 
> The complaint lodged by Denmark, Norway, Sweden, and Finland as to the disgraceful, criminal, under-financing of this expedition — the first sent to the Silent World since the Great Dying and therefore truly worthy of the best provisioning — where was I?
> 
> _Psst! The complaint!_
> 
> Right, the complaint lodged by Denmark and the other nations is scheduled to be heard at the earliest opportunity. Which is in August of Year 92.
> 
> Remind me why we belong to the Nordic Council at all? 

Mette unravelled two rows of the sweater, having dropped no fewer than four stitches without noticing. If she wanted it to be ready when Mikkel came home, she needed to do it right. Trying to knit while listening anxiously — fearfully — for news was only going to slow her down. She reluctantly restored the knitting to its basket and looked around the barn.

Her immediate family and their various spouses were already there, murmuring to each other. Even Martin's wife, Lykke, was there, half-hiding behind him. Lykke was so very shy that she hardly ever joined any group larger than three or four, but she had come to support her husband in this time.

As time passed, cousins drifted in until nearly sixty people were crowded into the barn waiting for news. The Rønne station continued its regular programming of other news and music, but the news-reader mentioned at frequent intervals that the rescue ship was still on its way.

_“What?”_

All conversation in the barn stopped abruptly at the startled question heard from the radio.

“Do we have confirmation? We need confirmation,” the news-reader ordered. Another voice mumbled something indistinguishable. “Öresund is _our_ base. Tell them we have priority. Get us confirmation on Madsen.”

“Your mike's live,” yet another voice pointed out.

“Oh! Ah … Öresund Base reports that the rescue ship has arrived at the Army outpost to pick up the survivors of the expedition to the Silent World. We are awaiting confirmation on the identities of any survivors. We don't want to raise hopes that are not warranted. Please be patient.”

The microphone must have been cut off at that point, for there was nothing but dead air for several long minutes in which the gathered Madsen family scarcely breathed.

“We have confirmation! There are five survivors, and our own Mikkel Madsen is among them! He is alive and well!” The news-reader sounded nearly as happy as Mikkel's relatives, who were hugging each other in relief and joy. “The other four are the Norwegian troll-hunter, Captain Sigrun Eide; the Swedish firebug, Emil Västerström; the Finnish scout, Lalli Hotakainen; and the Icelandic civilian, Reynir Árnason.

“The lost member of the team was the brave non-immune Finnish mechanic, Tuuri Hotakainen, who did such amazing work in keeping miserably substandard equipment working for so long. The circumstances of her death are unknown as yet, but we can suppose that she was in fact infected with the Rash as we had feared.

“The explorers will be taken to Iceland and will be subjected to a four-week quarantine aboard the rescue ship.

“I repeat, five of the six explorers in the Silent World have been rescued; only the Finn Tuuri Hotakainen was lost.”

The watch party was turning into a celebration. Spotting Martin escorting Lykke away to a more peaceful location, Mette realized that she was exhausted from the weeks of stress and slipped away herself. If Mikkel was _well,_ she thought, then he could not have been forced to carry out the duty of a medic to a patient infected with the Rash. He couldn't have!

Back in her little bedroom in the old farmhouse, Mette took out her knitting and set to work. When her big brother came home, his new sweater would be waiting for him.


End file.
